Greenfingers
by Lokifan
Summary: Fluffy Neville/Draco PWP for secretlypadfoot's birthday. Draco knows it's a cliche, but sometimes he loves his sweaty gardener of a boyfriend and those green fingers.


Draco flexed his toes against the shower floor, enjoying the hard spray of heat against his chest. This was why he'd insisted on a London flat, however long and rattling the Floo journey to Hogwarts could be: Hogsmeade just couldn't give him the water pressure. Neville had agreed, indulgent as ever - and probably needing a place that wasn't soaked in his own history as much as Draco had. Draco smiled to himself as he worked conditioner into his hair, remembering exactly how they'd resolved that question.

He rinsed the conditoner away, turning his face into the warm water as it sluiced away the aches of a tense day at work.

A distant flare of fire, and then Draco heard Neville's voice. "Draco!"

Draco smiled and didn't reply at first. Instead he turned the shower off, listening to Neville come closer as he called Draco's name like he wanted to have Draco under his eyes. Draco emerged from the shower in a billow of steam, slick with water, as the bathroom door opened.

"No respect for my privacy," Draco said complacently, leaning in to catch Neville's mouth, smiling into the deep brown of Neville's eyes.

"You don't mind," Neville scoffed. Then he hesitated. "You don't mind, right?"

"No," Draco allowed, a little unwillingly. But he couldn't worry too much about revealing weaknesses Neville already knew about: he was too busy taking in the state of his boyfriend.

Neville must have come straight from the Hogwarts greenhouses. He was in Muggle jeans and a filthy top. Soil smeared his still-flushed face, and his brown eyes were bright. He was sweaty and his hands were dirty. Mother would have refused to let him in the house.

Draco swallowed dryly.

He leaned in, letting Neville take his weight. Neville made a soft, surprised sound, which became a pleased one as Draco deepened their kiss and ran his hands down Neville's body. Draco felt the swell of Neville's biceps as he pulled Draco close.

Draco squirmed against Neville as Neville kissed him, his hands heavy on Draco's hips. Neville held Draco's naked body firmly against his, the warmth of his solid body leeching through the rough, dirty clothes. Lust quivered in Draco's stomach at the feel of rough cloth against his bare, pampered skin.

Draco's knees felt embarrassingly wobbly as the kiss got filthier. Neville's hands made their way to Draco's arse, squeezing rhythmically. Draco hardened against Neville's jeans, and he whimpered into Neville's mouth. His eyes flickered open for a moment and he caught the brightening of Neville's deep brown eyes at the sound. Neville was never quite sure, even now, of his ability to please Draco; and that uncertainty that became ferocious effort

Neville ran his calloused hands over Draco's wet skin, before teasing his fingers up Draco's cleft. Draco groaned, spreading his legs half-consciously, and Neville slid a finger inside him.

Draco broke the kiss. He panted against Neville's neck, feeling Neville shudder, as Neville teased him inside.

"Lube," Draco said, voice ragged. "Now."

Neville drew back; the loss of contact was aching, but worth it: Neville drew his wand from his pocket and Vanished his clothes, leaving his dirty, solid body deliciously naked. He slanted Draco a shockingly filthy grin, grabbed him round the waist, and Apparated.

Draco landed panting on their bed with Neville on top of him and already reaching for the bedside lube. His eyes slipped closed as Neville's wide hands gripped the backs of his thighs, pushing them back and up, leaving him bared and vulnerable. Draco shivered at the cool air on his skin and Neville's hands keeping him spread. Neville was panting too, and they groaned together as Neville's slick fingers worked their way inside him.

Neville was always so careful, lavishing attention and foreplay on him. There was something fantastically dirty about Draco's careful lover for once go straight for the fucking. Neville muttered as he stretched Draco, his voice gone deep and hoarse with arousal. "You've got no idea how good you look. So hot. So expensive-looking and all spread out for me. I'm going to make you feel so good."

Draco opened his eyes, and felt a jolt as Neville's ravenous eyes met his. "I believe you."

Neville let go of his thighs, leaving smears of soil on Draco's skin, to grip his cock and slide it in. Draco's back arched uncontrollably as Neville fucked him open. They found their rhythm immediately, Neville following Draco's lead without question, fucking him in long, sweet strokes with a hand on Draco's cock in perfect counterpoint. Draco's body moved easily between Neville's hand and cock, arousal already shutting down his mind.

Neville's thrusts got harder and faster until he was pounding Draco, and Draco's breaths stuttered with every thrust. He ran his hands over Neville's shoulders, feeling the flex of muscle, watching the determination in those dark eyes to watch Draco fall apart. Draco's back arched, his toes curled, he was mauling his own lower lip and then Neville kissed him and he was gone.

Neville kept fucking him through it, and Draco thrilled to the idea of his powerful lover fucking him boneless until Neville found his own satisfaction. It took longer - Draco had already been wound tight by the time they hit the bed - but the ache was sweet. Neville groaned into Draco's shoulder, biting him as he spilled, and Draco's breath caught.

Neville pulled out, but otherwise stayed where he was: on top of Draco, kissing him softly. Cuddler.

Draco fidgeted a bit to make Neville hold him properly.

"I'm such a cliche," Draco said drowsily. Neville made an inquiring noise into Draco's neck.

Draco ran a hand over Neville's broad shoulders, then let the arm flop down again. "You know. The aristocratic gay boy who loves getting fucked by a filthy gardener. Not to mention the aristocrat who loves fucking his gardener in his study." Neville made an amused sound and kissed his neck. "At least you're a pureblood or Mother would undoubtedly die of the shame. Not of me sleeping with man or a commoner, you understand - the shame of my being passé."

Neville chuckled. "I'm always happy to help keep you in vogue."

"I know." Draco bit his lip. "Actually, maybe it isn't predictable after all."

"I didn't see it coming. By the way, Draco, in an hour I'm going to ask you to fuck me in the tulip bed, so maybe you should sleep now. You need to get your rest between bouts of exhibitionism."

"This is what I mean, you know. About it not being predictable." Draco laid his arm over Neville's back in a way that definitely wasn't cuddling. "I always thought I hated nice men."

Neville raised his head, finally, his dark eyes piercing and liquid as a blackbird's. "Funny how things work out. I always thought I'd want someone loyal - someone reliable."

Draco felt his face crumple into a scowl, and then Neville added, "I was right, too."

He gave Draco a kiss, rescuing him from having to think of a reply, and then lay down again, cuddling Draco against him with that sense of effort that worried Draco sometimes but made him feel superhuman. No one had ever put so much effort into keeping him.

Draco shut his eyes for a moment, his head fuzzy and full of the smell of Neville's hair. He was going to come up with an eloquent reply to Neville, something witty and worthy of his dignity - and then he was asleep in his arms.


End file.
